Useless in Hell
by FallingDomino
Summary: What would happen if Faith died for a few minutes when Buffy stabbed her atop that rooftop? Three Slayers roam the earth, and the third resides in a mental institution after claiming she was attacked by a vampire. The gang hears of her existence and comes to the rescue. Yet all of their vampire problems soon become Skylar Barret's as well. Specifically one English vampire. SpikexOC
1. Prologue

Prologue

_**(Disclaimer: I do not own Buffy the Vampire Slayer, or any of its characters, except for my original character. All else belongs to its rightful owners.)**_

"_Normal is an illusion. What's normal for a spider is to cause chaos for the fly." – Morticia Adams_

.

It never stopped. The stares. The pleading. The derisive laughter. The pain.

In the house of the insane, order was a myth. Up could mean down, black could mean white, but in the end everything was the same; every single person in this establishment was out of their mind, patient or intern.

I sat in the armchair that was positioned in the corner of my room, which consisted of white tiled floors and plain white walls. The heavy emphasis of white almost always made me feel like I was being interrogated.

My hospital gown was loose over my body with the number '118' stamped over the right breast. 118. That's my number. That's how almost everyone in here refers me to; patient one-eighteen. They call me crazy. I'm not.

"Skylar, you're not paying attention," said the doctor. He was wearing his usual white uniform and his brown eyes were slightly enlarged by his thick glasses and always made me feel like he was a bug inspecting me.

My eyes swiveled onto him.

"Why would I? You're just going to tell me I'm wrong again."

He sighed, glancing down at his clipboard, then back up at me.

"If you're about to tell me that vampires are real, then yes."

I tightened my knees to my chest and looked away. The room was completely clean of any personal objects. My parents stopped visiting a long time ago and not long after, so did their flowers. It was evident that if I didn't stop claiming that a vampire attacked me six months ago, they wanted nothing more to do with me. And by this point, that was fine by me.

"We have an appointment now, Skylar," continued the doctor in his painfully calm voice.

"There's no appointment," I murmured, resting my head on the head of my chair. "I'm not crazy."

I felt his gaze harden over me, but I didn't look at him. I could almost pretend the chair was a shoulder to lean on. Someone who actually cared. Someone who had nothing to do with this place.

"I don't think you're crazy, Skylar," said the doctor at last. I looked at his left cheek so as to avoid looking straight into his eyes. "I think you're confused. I wish you would tell me what happened that night six months ago."

My eyebrows narrowed dangerously, but I was still flat out refusing to directly meet his gaze.

"You want to know what happened, Dr. Gregory?" I said quietly.

"Yes," he said quickly

"It was night. I was walking home from work."

He nodded, familiarization with my words already dawning on his face; he had already heard this story many times. But it wasn't about to change.

"It was late, twelve or one. I was alone. My house wasn't far so it wasn't a big deal," I continued leisurely. "Then, after walking a couple more blocks down, someone dragged me into a back alleyway. They attacked me. At first, I thought I was being mugged. But they didn't want my purse."

The doctor sighed again, leaning forward and massaging the bridge of his nose. I looked determinately back.

"Skylar . . ." he said after a few long moments. "What _happened?"_

"A vampire attacked me," I said in a monotone. "He tried to drink my blood."

He was a doctor, so he was trained to hold patience through these times, but his eyes told me the truth of his exasperation.

"Tried?" he questioned.

"I've told you the story."

"Tell it again."

I met his eyes this time, staring at him without falter. I didn't want to show any weakness; staying strong in a mental institution was the main key for keeping your sanity.

"I fought."

"Fought?"

"He couldn't kill me. His face was disfigured and he had fangs. He tried to bite my neck. I'm _not _crazy!" I added in a louder voice as his eyes left mine again out of frustration. "I didn't imagine this! Why would I imagine a vampire attacking me!?"

"Anyone could imagine anything when fear is running in their system. Skylar," he said, suddenly in a softer tone. He tried to place his hand over mine but I flinched it away. He breathed out of his nose then met my eyes. "You were mugged and _imagined _this vampire because your mind was playing tricks on you. It's devious like that."

"I'm not crazy!" I repeated for the third time, though much angrier. "Just for some reason he couldn't kill me! I kicked him—hard. Then I ran, and he followed. When passing a house, I picked up a picket fence piece and stabbed him in the heart! He _exploded _into dust!"

By this point I was on my feet and practically shouting.

"Nurse Kelly," said the doctor steadily, referring to the nurse standing behind him. "Bring Skylar her medication please. I think it's been a little late today."

"I'm not taking your medication!" I shouted.

"Miss, please," said Nurse Kelly, walking forward and taking my wrist in her hand, but I ripped it away.

"Don't touch me!"

"Ms. Barret, you need help," she said. "That's what Dr. Gregory is for. Please and try to listen to him."

"Why won't you _listen _to me!?" I cried.

"Skylar, no man of your description has been found or even seen. He doesn't exist," said the doctor.

"That's because I _staked _him!"

The nurse reached for the call button nearby and not soon after many other doctors and nurses appeared.

"No, let me go!" I screamed. I fought hard as they forced me down in the nearby bed. It was almost impossible for them. I had become a lot stronger in the past seven months, even before I came to the institution.

"Stay still, Ms. Barret!" one of the doctors ordered. They eventually began strapping me to the bed by my ankles and wrists, keeping me from kicking or hitting them. I felt a sharp pain in my arm and realized they had forced an injection into my bloodstream. I began to feel weak and tired almost immediately. My struggling ceased and my vision blurred.

The last thing I saw was the masked faces of all the doctors in their scrubs and staring down at me as if I was an alien creature on their examination table. I hated them. I hated them all. Would anybody ever listen?

The sleep is dreamless and agonizing. Somewhere in the back of my mind I know this is an unnatural unconsciousness and I am trying to get out. When I awake, the straps are undone around my ankles and wrists, but I am still too weak to move.

My eyes move to someone straightening my blankets. It is a nurse that I am unfamiliar with. She must have been new considering I had been here long enough to know everyone here.

"Take your medication," she said firmly, nodding her head to my nightstand where a small saucer sat with the white pills on it. When I said nothing she said, "I'm not leaving until you do."

I watched her for a few more moments before sitting up straighter. The nurse watches me steadily as I reach zombie-like for the white tablets. I place them in my mouth and swallow. She nodded and then walked off.

I reached under my tongue and pulled the capsules out, stuffing them in the back of my pillowcase. I leaned my head on the wall behind me and breathed in deeply, closing my eyes. But every time I did I saw the face. The face that was paper white, yellow demonic eyes, and the forehead creasing in odd shapes like a feral tiger growling. And the fangs. The fangs that bared themselves to me after attempting to bite into my neck.

I wasn't imagining anything. The vampire was real. Vampires _are _real.

How many people knew of them? How long had they been here? Was anyone trying to stop them? And how had I been able to get away? If they were all what they were cracked up to be, I wouldn't have been able to kick him and escape.

My fingers spread across the arid bedding and I opened my tired eyes. I was often exhausted these days no matter how many shots or medication they put me on. My auburn hair was less shiny and held no life, just like my eyes. One would assume I was dead if met only by my gaze.

Then, outside of the room, I heard something. Some_one. _I would have assumed it was my parents finally coming back to take me away from this terrible place, but that was wishful thinking. My two perfect parents would never accept a daughter that claimed to see and stake vampires. I was dead to them now.

But also this voice was much younger. It was female and I imagined she was no older than her later teen years. But her words were enough to spark a certain excitement in me, for I knew for a fact that I had never heard this voice before in my life.

"Hi. I'm here to visit Skylar Barret. Is she here?"

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(A/N: Well, I hoped you all enjoyed so far. This was my first fanfic so I hope it's not too bad haha reviews would be lovely and motivational!)


	2. Strangers in the Ward

**Hello my pretty little lemon drops. Behold. After three months I have come up with the inspiration to continue this fic. I hope not too many of you have already left me after such a long space of time, for you would leave me in a pool of despair and tears. I kid.**

**Any who, perhaps now would be a good time to mention that for all of you that hold such a big deal for these types of things, this story will contain some major FemSlash between Skylar and … well, you'll just have to read and find out, yeah? ;) **

**I also want to warn for some massive smut and angst. This fic is rated M for a specific reason. I don't like to hold back to writing, especially when the writing gets hot and heavy and nor will I even try. If you truly wish to shy away from such sexy moments, I would suggest skipping the chapter in question or leave the story permanently, for much smut will be written.**

**Reviews would marvelous. Don't make me get on all fours and beg like a bitch in heat.**

**Onward.**

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ONE: Strangers in the Ward

The girl was petite with locks of light blonde hair that hung alongside her rosy-flushed cheeks. Her eyes were a pale, friendly green that looked over me immediately with undeniable sympathy and pity. I recoiled at the thought. She was looking timid and nervous as the secretary led her into my room.

She was followed by three other companions. Two looking the same age as the girl, and the other a middle-aged man. The age difference threw me off for a moment, wondering if a stranger group could have entered my room.

The guy was dark haired, with eyes the same shade. He was slightly lanky with a slightly care-free stance about him. The other girl was small boned with a complexion in the shade of ivory. Her eyes held innocence and the same pity that her blonde friend held me with.

The middle aged man was tall with thick glasses placed on the bridge of his straight noise. His hands were deep in the pockets of his suit jacket and was setting an extremely curious gaze upon me.

I stared at the lot of them

"Skylar, this girl says she is your sister. Do you know her?" The nurse's voice was extremely skeptical. There was no mystery as to why; the girl was blonde, while my hair was a shade of dark auburn. Her eyes green, as mine where a dark chocolate color.

However, when I met the girl's gaze, I found no reason to deny to the secretary that I knew her . You'd be surprised how much hate can build up inside you after six months, all of it focused on this establishment that had been my prison.

"Yes," I said shortly. The group's face showed obvious signs of relief, but the nurse, busy looking confused, did not notice.

She stared down the group with her beady little eyes as if she was secretly accusing them of something.

"You have half an hour," she said stiffly before moving towards the door. She didn't shut it but cast one last look of heavy skepticism over the four people before waddling back down the hallway and back to the front desk.

There was a slight pause in which the group advanced forward and my eyebrows continued to narrow, but I said nothing yet. It was the blonde who spoke first.

"Skylar, my name is Buffy," she said tenderly, allowing herself to stand beside my bedside.

"Xander," said the guy.

"I'm Willow," said the other girl with a small, half-committed wave with a small smile.

"Rupert Giles," said the middle-aged man with a timid smile.

I gazed at all of them, my brow furrowing ever more.

"Who are you people?" I said quietly.

They all exchanged glances.

"Ms. Barrett, do you mind if we ask you a few questions?"asked Mr. Giles, taking one of the blue plastic chairs from the corner and seating himself on it.

I looked at him.

"About what?"

"An incident that occurred seven months previously," said Giles. My skin crawled with goosebumps.

"How—would you know anything about that?" I said, my voice lowering to an even quieter tone. "Are you . . . FBI agents, or something?"

"Not FBI," said Buffy, with a shadow of a small smile. She sat down at the foot of my bed, her eyes meeting mine with a sudden serious demeanor. "We want to help, and no, not in the creepy doctor way like everyone else does around here," she added quickly. "Seven months ago, you were attacked, weren't you?"

I stared at her, the blood in my veins beginning to pump faster without me knowing the reason for it. I swallowed , breathing out of my nose. I couldn't find my voice. I just nodded.

"He wasn't a normal guy, was he, Skylar?" said Buffy leisurely.

I glanced around at the three other people who were all watching me anxiously before looking back at Buffy.

"I'm not crazy," I said softly. I felt like a broken record.

"We know you aren't," said Willow firmly, causing me to set my gaze upon her instead. She looked slightly nervous but still managed a small smile. "I mean, from the beginning we had Buffy telling us what was what and pulled us through this. I can't imagine what it must have been being alone for seven months with no one listening."

My lips parted slightly, my eyes drifting to look down at the floor. No. No you couldn't imagine.

"Which is why we're here," continued Buffy. "We believe you."

My head shot up.

"You—" I couldn't even get the sentence to slip off my tongue. My mouth was dry and the surface of skin tingled with the effect of shock. I would never have imagined that three words that this stranger had just spoken would have sounded like heaven's bells to me. After so long of being shunned and diagnosed as a nut job, I had four strangers walk right into my room on a random day and tell me that they believed me. I could have cried.

"Skylar, we have some things to talk about," said Buffy slowly.

"Which is a mellow way of saying, 'your entire life is about to change'," said Xander, also grabbing a chair and sitting on it. "I'll get my popcorn."

.

"A Slayer?" I whispered, as if afraid of saying the title too loudly would cause something bad. "I don't understand. I can't be this—this superhero thing. I can barely make toast in the morning without burning it."

"Yeah, because both of them are entirely relevant," said Xander.

I opened my mouth, but then closed it. My eyes fixated upon Buffy.

"Hoe else would you explain how you could fight him, Skylar?" she said. "How woulf you explain that you had the strength to win against him?" Again, I had no answer.

"What I do not understand is the absence of your Watcher," said Giles. "The Council generally knows and calculates the whereabouts of the potential Slayers and doesn't hesitate to be by your side."

"Watcher," I said steadily, my breath coming out harsh. "That's what you are?"

"Yes," said Giles with a small smile.

"And you . . . train Slayers?"

"Train _a _Slayer. Buffy," he said.

"Might become a duo, " said Xander.

"Hold on," I said quickly. "So I can just walk out of here a free man? I go—_train _how to be a . . . a Slayer?"

"I wish things were so simple," said Giles. "But unfortunately I don't know how easy they will be to convince to let you go."

I looked down again.

"I don't believe this," I muttered.

"You know that vampires exist; it isn't hard to believe that there's something out there that's meant to fight them," said Buffy.

I looked at her.

"No, I don't have a problem accepting that Slayers exist. I mean, yeah, s lot to take in. But I've had seven months to come to terms with the fact that the world is not what I grew up to believe it is." I took a deep breath. "The thing I'm having a hard time believing is that _I'm _a Slayer."

"Why?" Buffy inquired.

I let out a dry laugh.

"Because not once in my life have I ever had significant meaning," I said slowly. A slightly stunned silence followed my words. "So, out of all people there is in the world, I'm probably the worst choice to be a hero of any sort."

There was a slight pause.

"Don't be so sure, Skylar," said Buffy firmly. "You were chosen for a reason, just like me. I don't think Slayers are picked out randomly."

There was another silence as Buffy and I looked at each other. I was confused as to what to think, and yet I found no legitimate reason not to believe these people. I was attacked by a vampire. I knew it. These people believed me, and they too knew the existence of them. So yes, it was easy to believe in the existence of a Slayer.

Suddenly, the porky figure of the nurse materialized in the doorway again.

"Visiting hours are over," she said sternly. "You can come back and visit Skylar tomorrow."

The group got to their feet after all chancing another glance at me.

"We'll get you out of here, Skylar," said Buffy under her breath so the nurse would not hear. She slipped a piece of paper within my hand. I clutched it tightly between my nimble fingers. "If you need anything, just call."

I didn't respond but merely watched the four people who had changed my life in just a half an hour walk out of the room. Buffy gave me one last smile before following the group to the exit. Once the nurse closed the door, I looked down at the slip of paper lying flat in the palm of my hand. It was a phone number.

I but my cheek, my eyes grazing over the open window. The outside air held a prominent gray color, clouds above threatening heavy rain.

Oh, I was going to get out of here, alright. With or without the help of my new friends.


	3. Escape and Agreement

**Lovely to see that I still have some of my viewers here. It warms my heart to know that I have at least caught some of your guys' attention.**

**Currently I am sitting in my dorm room with my laptop while a lightning storm is going on outside. The wonderful weather has given me some inspiration for this next chapter.**

**Also, I want to clarify something; as I mentioned before, there will be some FemSlash. But don't forget that the main romance is based off of a SpikexOc. You'll just have to continue reading to see what I'm talking about.**

**Thank you my lemon drops for the reviews. It is very motivational for me to continue this story.**

**Moving on.**

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TWO: Escape and Agreement

The following day was as normal as any other. At eight all of the patients were herded into the cafeteria for breakfast where morning activities soon followed. Normally, I would have visited the outdoor pool but it was storming since the previous night. The wind howled through the tree branches outside and the rain pounded against the windows like mini grenades.

At ten we were offered tea and snacks. I sat next a middle aged man, Andy Fitzberg, who I had gathered a small friendship with over the past few months. He had been here longer than I have, his reason being is that he tried to commit suicide after the loss of his daughter and mother in a car accident.

At twelve we were given lunch and medication. I had stuck the capsules within my mashed potatoes and thrown the remains away.

All the while I was silently waiting. Waiting for a chance. Although I acted normal, secretly I was planning. Not only had the recent visit of my new friends had been a life changing event for me as well as the reassurance of my sanity, but it was also an opportunity. I now had friends outside the walls of the asylum that could help. Friends that believed and could help me.

I knew it would be months before my new friends could ever 'break' me out of here. I couldn't wait that long. I couldn't. I now knew I had the strength to fight, and when that knowledge comes to you after six months in here, you do not hesitate to use it.

Was I nervous? Funny. You'd think I would be. But maybe the overwhelming sensation of excitement and adrenaline running through my veins overpowered any feeling of anxiety. Inside, I was jittery; the potential idea of at least seeing the world outside of the asylum after so much time left me in a state of small euphoria.

At three, I sat calmly in the sitting area on the couch that faced the television. I was watching the news where the weather man reported that there was really no chance of the lightning storm letting up at all today and advised everyone to remain indoors in case of flash flooding.

I turned to see one of the nurses staring at me. This wasn't too out of the ordinary since the staff was always ordered to heavily watch over the patients, yet it didn't make me feel any better. I stared back at her with unblinking eyes until she looked away and went to attend one of the other patients.

There was really no way any of them could know what I was planning on doing that night. I had of everything planned out in my head, and all I had to wait for was the sun to go down.

The day exceeded to continue its normal routine. Around dinner we were given our third dosage of medication, and as usual I found my way around ingesting it.

At seven o'clock we were stashed away in our bedrooms where the door was promptly locked behind us. If it weren't raining so heavily, the sun would be seen setting low in the sky. Yet because of the dense and dark clouds, it could already be considered nightfall.

I seated myself atop my covers and dug into my nightstand drawer for a book that I had read a million times already; _Wuthering Heights. _If I had a choice, I would never read these types of books. But in my situation you couldn't exactly afford to be picky. Also my selection had been very limited ever since my parents had cut their connections from me.

I opened the book randomly and started to read down the lines merely for something to do until I acted. Every hour or so, they would have a nurse on the nightshift peek into the door window of every room to make sure everything was in order.

By eight-forty-five, I was told to turn off my light and go to bed. I obeyed calmly and flicked off my nightstand lamp and shifted my body in between my covers. I lay my head upon my pillow and listened to the rain tap against the window that was placed above my head.

But I didn't sleep. I waited.

For hours.

My eyes remained open as I stared into the vivid darkness of the room. My vision grazed over my digital alarm clock.

Eleven-thirty-nine.

They had to be tired by now. They always got tired, no matter how many shifts they took. When they got tired, they got sloppy when they monitored the hallways. After the hours of nothing happening they merely got bored and let their guard down. I knew this because I had spent so many months examining every little fact about this place. I had had time to weigh my chances of escaping. I was only doing it know because with my new knowledge I believed I had a flying chance.

Eleven-forty-five.

It hurt to be so still. Every muscle in my body was frozen in place, my mind present with the constant potential fear of anything happening.

Eleven-fifty.

Why did time move so slowly? It was a form of mental torture. I realized I was holding my breath. I released it yet still did not move. I was no longer fearless. Coming so close to the actual thing was much different than imagining it in your head all day.

Eleven-fifty-eight.

My ears craned for any movement outside.

Twelve.

I waited. It was next to impossible to hear anything outside in the hallway when the rain was pounding so hard on the windows. But, within the next few moments, I saw shadows move out in the hallway. The guard didn't even glance in my bedroom. He had lowered his guard, just as I hoped he would.

Leisurely, I lifted my head off of the pillow. I shifted my legs from under the sheets and stepped upon the cold, white tiled floor. I approached the heavy metal door and glanced both ways down the hallway. I only just saw the guard make his turn around the other end.

I placed my hand upon the door handle and struggled to open it. I closed my eyes, counted to one hundred, took a deep breath, and pulled with every ounce of effort I had. The handle ripped cleanly out of the door. I was so surprised I almost dropped it.

Yet it was even more effort not to scream with happiness. Tenderly, I placed the handle upon my nearby desk and swung the door open. I barely did another glance behind my shoulder at my room. It would be the last time I would ever see it. It was the happiest thought I had ever had.

Patient one-eighteen was no more.

I stepped out into the hallway cautiously, hoping the noise of the door handle had not been heard by any of the staff members. I would have gone out the window, but I wasn't sure if a Slayer could survive a three-story fall. I wasn't in the position to experiment.

The reason I had waited exactly for the moment the guards to pass by my room again was because I wanted to know where they were and have that advantage over them. Now I knew they wouldn't pass by here for another hour.

However, as I quietly tread through the dark hallway, I got to the end of the ward and found that the two metal double doors were locked. Figures. I wondered if there was another door somewhere. Even if there was, it would most definitely be locked.

I looked around, as if hoping the answer would spring out of the walls. It didn't, but it did, however, come from the ceiling. I raised my head and saw something that I hadn't noticed in all my time here. The ceilings were a cheap, thin white wood material. As I ran silently down the hallway again, I found an air vent.

That could work. But if I pulled the air vent out, they would obviously find it. But if I hid it, maybe they wouldn't notice until the morning. Either way, I was wasting precious time.

I let out a low breath through my nose and leapt. Quite literally leapt through the air. My fingers clenched the edge of the vent and ripped out of the ceiling as I fell backward. I almost toppled over on my backside.

Surprisingly, the vent seemed to come out without much leftover debris. I found a broom closet and stashed the air vent in it to give me a bit more time before they noticed my absence. It was possible that when they made their round through this hall, they might notice the missing doorknob on my door or the gaping hall in the ceiling.

Either way, I had to move quickly. Surprised again by my strength, I lifted myself into the ceiling and stumbled into the vent.

I was only moving on my base of memory of where everything was. I moved quickly, but slow enough so no stray staff members would hear me from below. Even so, the rain, wind, and lightning were enough to conceal any sound of my moving body.

I could really not see anything so all I could do was keep moving forward. Eventually, I came across an air vent that looked down upon an empty hall. I had to be more careful around these areas; I had no idea what the guard schedule was at night around here. But I saw a 'stair' sign nearby and realized this was my ticket out.

As I kicked in another vent, I wasn't so lucky with keeping my balance this time. I landed on my feet before sliding and falling on my side. I held a moment to rub my ribs before getting to my feet and looking quickly around. The area was still clear.

I hid the vent in another nearby closet and silently walked to the stairs and walked hurriedly down them, trying to steady my breath and calm my pounding heart.

Everything was going remarkably well so far. Much more than I expected. But as I got down to the first floor, I nearly got caught in the light of a flashlight beam. I slammed myself against the wall of the door and prayed against all hope that the guard hadn't seen me.

"Hello?" I heard him say. I bit down hard on my lip so as to stop my loud breathing. "Anyone there?"

I could feel my lungs constrict with pain against my ribs as I denied them any air, but I was still too afraid of being heard.

"You can come out; I won't hurt you."

I pressed my body harder into the wall as if hoping to somehow disappear. The footsteps of the guard came closer and closer, the sound mixing in with the pouring rain outside. I sank further into the shadowed corner and hope that even if the guard walked in, it would be too dark for him to see me.

He did enter, shining his menacing flashlight up the staircase and under. I clasped a hand to my mouth. My heart was pounding so hard I was sincerely surprised the guard could not hear it.

After ten terrifying seconds, the guard eventually turned. I would have gotten away with it if it hadn't been for fate. If it hadn't been for the strike of white lightning lighting up in the entire area and revealing me in the darkened corner.

The guard let out a surprised yell and released his flashlight so it flew into the air, the beam of it spinning dizzyingly all around the room. I reacted on instinct as the guard came charging for me, his hands outstretched and aiming for my arms.

I dodged him and took his head into my hands and slammed his face against the cement wall. His body fell limp, the side of his face sliding down the wall in eerie motions. I felt my eyes grow wide as the realization of what I just did overcame me.

Feverishly, I bent down and turned the guard face up so he lay in my arms. I placed two fingers against his neck, a cold sweat spreading across the surface of my skin. Yet after a painstakingly horrifying moment, I felt a small pump of blood beat against my fingers. I let out a heavy breath of relief.

However, the man had a dark stain of blood dripping from his hairline. He needed help otherwise there might be permanent damage. I sat up and ran my fingers through my hair, wondering what to do.

Even after all my built anger that was focused towards this establishment, I still found a streak of conscience for this man. I couldn't just leave him here. Something could seriously go wrong with him if not die if he didn't get help soon.

I lifted my head and peered around the doorway to the hall. Down the end of the corridor, I saw a shadow of person. I got to my feet and into the open, glancing to my left where I saw the exit. I only had a few moments to think up a plan.

"_Help!" _I screamed at the top of my voice. "_Help! Over here! By the staircase!"_

I didn't stick around to see what effect my words had. I just knew I heard sudden footsteps start running towards me and I knew I had little time left before I ran into another guard. With any luck, someone heard exactly what I said and was now checking by the staircase and will have found the guard.

This time I didn't check to see if the front doors were locked; I took the handle into my hands and pulled backward with sheer force. The door was ripped off of its hinges and fell to the ground in a shattered mess.

But what I was so stupidly not expecting was the alarm. It ran through my ears like a banshee calling and I felt my blood turn to ice. I didn't look back; I didn't turn to see if anyone I had seen me. I lurched myself into the pouring rain in my bare feet and onto the front of the establishment.

Lightning streaked across the sky as I ran across the grassy ground, my loose, wet hair now clinging to my shoulders as I ran at full speed. I already hear yelling and disruption from the place behind me. It was only when I tripped onto the grassy lawn did I glance for a second too long at the asylum.

People were running out from every entrance in the Victorian-like building. It happened so quickly that I barely believed it was happening.

I turned and continue to run; It was all I had left. I came in contact with the black iron gate. I lifted myself over the top of it. I landed on the other side hard on my back and let out a suppressed groan. There was an extremely searing pain in my right shoulder and found that the top of the gate had grazed my skin and left a bloody mess. Yet I didn't have time to think about that now.

I had to run.

It didn't take long to find the road. I had run out into it and almost got run over by a green minivan, which honked angrily at me. Clutching my arm, I trudged through the rain and through the street.

Elle Ville was a small town, which was good since there wouldn't be much people out this late and I was incredibly conspicuous in my blue hospital uniform.

I trudged along the sidewalk, looking up and down for anyone following me, but it was clear. The guards obviously didn't think it was possible for an eighteen-year-old to hop an eleven-foot gate. They were probably still searching the grounds

But . . . . I was out. I was _free. _The air had never smelt so clean, so fresh, so alive. I had taken everything beautiful for granted before I was in the asylum. Never before had I been so excited to even see a car, or a streetlamp, or even a phone booth.

A phone booth . . . that was what I was searching for. I reached into my pocket and pulled out the little slip of paper Buffy had given me yesterday afternoon. I was surprised I still had it. I hurried out of the rain and into the little booth. The space was so enclosed and small that the rain pounding on every window overpowered any other sound.

I picked up the phone and started to dial the number before remembering I needed a quarter to use it. I let out my breath. I hadn't had any pocket money since I was admitted to the institution. And even then, my parents hadn't been very lenient with the idea of them giving me any money.

I tried to see through the windows of the booth, but I wasn't even sure what I was looking for. I wished Buffy would have at least told me where she lived so I could have an idea of where to head.

I exited the booth, my recent happiness fading slightly. So now I was stuck on the side of the street in the pouring rain with no money and people searching all over for me. By now they should know that I am no longer on the institution grounds.

I breathed in the heavy rain air, my eyebrows pushing together in frustration. I examined the state of my arm in a nearby streetlamp. It had cut deep. The blood pouring from it mingled in with the falling rain but did nothing to rid myself of any pain.

I continued to look around, yet the search for anything useful was in vain. I clenched my teeth together. I was an idiot for not thinking this through. I was so set upon getting out of there that I hadn't exactly considered what I would do if I _did _get out.

"Looks like you're in trouble, luv?"

I turned so quickly, so hard that my neck cracked. Within the shadows of a nearby building, I saw the figure of someone standing in the dark. I was immediately on edge and already half-considered making a run for it. Save for Buffy and the others, I had barely spoken to anyone the past six months who wasn't either a doctor or an insane patient.

I couldn't make out the person's face, but I was guessing by the deep voice and broad figure that it was a male. My panicked silence seemed to have amused him.

"I'm not going to bite," he said. There was a flickering sound and a orangey flash. I realized it was a lighter and that he was probably lighting a cigarette. "Not that I could, after the bloody chip an' all," he added in a lowered mutter.

"What?" I said. I was terrified at how shrill my voice was. I sounded scared and vulnerable. I hated the feeling.

There was a moment in which I could feel the eyes of the stranger graze me slightly.

"You're in a right state, aren't you?" he said. "Where the bleeding hell did you escape from? An insane asylum?" His voice was heavily coated with sarcasm, yet after a moment I could tell he considered this possibility.

I didn't want him calling the cops on me so I quickly brought his mind away from the subject.

"Please. Do you have a quarter I could borrow? I need to get out of here."

He didn't respond immediately. I wished he would come out of the dark so I wouldn't be speaking to shadows. I felt extremely uncomfortable not seeing his face.

"What's the rush?" he inquired, his voice layered heavily with a sly tone.

I could feel panic and annoyance rise high up within me. I was not far from the asylum and they were all bound to be searching the streets by now.

"I don't have time for this," I said, almost turning my back on him. "Either you help me or you don't."

"You're bleeding," he commented casually. Though I noted there was a slightly pained tone to his voice now. I turned to face him, my eyebrows contracting. It was odd he would say that. It was too dark for anyone to be able to see the bleeding on my arm.

"Bloody hell this is torture," he said, more to himself. He walked out of the shadows. I could make out his face a little more clearly, yet the darkness was still too dense for me to see completely clearly. He was tall, with platinum bleach blonde hair and high cheekbones.

His eyes moved to the cut on my arm then met my eyes.

"Now why in the sodden right hell would I help you, love?" he said, a small and painful smile curling on his lips.

I met his eyes, my chest heaving due to my heavy breathing.

"Who are you?"

"Don't worry about it."

"Do you have a quarter?"

"I might."

Another silence. I felt like strangling this man and was almost convinced to do it. What was another unconscious body? But I quickly grabbed onto my sense and judged against it.

"Fine," I said eventually. "Don't bother. I really don't have time for this."

As I turned to leave again, he spoke once more.

"If I help you out, you would owe me, wouldn't you, lovely?" he said slyly.

I froze for one moment, then turned to face him.

"I guess I would," I said slowly, my eyes frowning again. "Not like I would ever see you again."

He smiled again.

"Don't be so sure."

There was another silence in which the only sound was the pouring rain. I breathed in deeply. I didn't have much time to argue.

"Fine," I said. "Please—I really don't have any time left."

The man didn't question my bizarre comment. He reached into his leather jacket pocket and brought out a quarter. He flipped the coin once in the air and caught it before flipping it towards me.

"Then we have an agreement," he said.

I stared at him. Did he really think that we would ever see each other again after this night? Yet I nodded before briskly turning on my heel and darting for the phone booth again. I dialed Buffy's number and prayed to God that she would answer.

She did, around the fourth ring.

"Hello?" Her voice was tired and muffled.

"Buffy," I said, almost sighing her name in relief. "Buffy. Please. I really, really need your help right now. It's Skylar."


	4. Return of Normality

**Hubba bubba lotta nubba. What do you think of my escape scene in the last chapter? If it were anyone but a Slayer, it would be completely unrealistic. I once visited an asylum before and it was pretty much everything that I described. And no, by visited I do not mean I was admitted to the establishment. Doesn't mean that I shouldn't be.**

**Right now as I type these words I am rewatching Buffy and traveling down memory lane.**

**I would be honored if y'all told me your thoughts so far, whether you love it or consider this fic to be the epitome of Satan's offspring.**

**I won't pass judgment if so.**

THREE: Return of Normality

Things went considerably much better than I expected them to in the next few hours. For more than sixty minutes I waited inside the brightly lit up phone booth for Buffy and her friends to come and get me. Every minute was filled with dread and fear of being found, but no such thing happened. It was her friend, Xander, who was driving. They offered me a towel for me to wrap around myself as I sat in the backseat and we drove out.

They made their concerns clear as we drove out of Elle Ville and stated their opinion that it probably would have been better if I had just waited for them to get me out of the mad house.

But I wouldn't hear a word of it. _They _hadn't been stuck in there for six months with no one listening, no one _trying _to listen. I was surprised myself that I didn't actually lose my mind. I might have well been talking to myself the entire time I was there.

They would search for me, no doubt. But they couldn't have a clue where I was headed. I left no trail, no evidence whatsoever. With any luck, this entire thing would pass by and I could forget about ever going to St. Vincent's Hospital.

Along the way, Buffy had informed me that she lived in Sunnydale, which was a good two hours away. They had only gotten to me in little more than an hour due to heavy speeding.

Once we got to Buffy's house, I was also immensely surprised by her mother's reaction towards me. Though slightly put off by the state of my bloody medical attire, she beckoned me in like a mother and offered me a change of clothes and a warm shower.

In the asylum, there was a large room filled with showers but no one ever got a private one. Everyone had to completely expose their naked bodies to every individual in the room. So you could imagine how elated I was at the concept of having my very own privacy to shower in.

The warm water felt incredibly soothing on my cold, sodden skin that was chilled from the heavy rain that still continued to pour outside. I ran the sweet-smelling shampoo through my hair gratefully, breathing in a sigh of relief as I soaked up the hot steam.

I turned to grab a clean washcloth to clean my arm wound, but found that the cut had already closed. Huh. Must have something to do with the whole Slayer deal.

When down showering, I changed into the warm, dry cotton pajamas Buffy had lent me. It felt wonderful to be able to wear something other than my every day hospital gown. I ran a brush a few times through my wet hair and let it cling to my shoulders and back.

I had never felt so content.

When I emerged from the bathroom I walked back downstairs to find Buffy, Xander, and Buffy's mother all waiting for me in the living room. Buffy and Xander were evidently filling Buffy's mother, Joyce, in on the info about me. I was surprised at she took it. Surprised, yeah, but accepting and understanding.

"Oh, that poor girl," she muttered before they all realized I was standing in the doorway. "I can't imagine what it must have been like all those months with no one listening."

Although rather touched, it was against my personality to feel comfortable after many displays of pity. Pity made me feel weak and vulnerable, which is safe to say one of my biggest fears.

I cleared my throat slightly, making all three heads pop up.

"Wow," said Buffy, her eyebrows rising. "You look . . ."

"Different," finished Xander, whose eyebrows had also risen.

"I have to say that I don't think hospital mint blue is really my color," I said, taking a seat down on the end of the couch. I met Buffy's eye. "Thank you. I really don't know what I would have done if you hadn't come for me."

"We're in this together," she agreed, giving me a small smile. Though her face was shadowed with the same worry that was written on both Xander and Joyce's face. It was no mystery as to what.

"I realize I just kind of dropped in on you unexpectedly," I started.

"To say the least," interrupted Xander with a small shrug.

"But I really had no idea where else to go. You gave me your number and I—I just saw a way out. I couldn't _not _take it."

"Hey," said Buffy quickly, making me realize that I had been rambling. "Don't worry about. We wouldn't have been able to get you out of there for a long time, if not break you out ourselves. We'll figure out what to do. You're one of the three Slayers and I'm going to need you by my side."

I stared at her, and then I quickly recovered myself.

"Jeeze," I said slowly. "Someone deserves the loyalty of the year award."

"And also best kept hair award," she said cheerfully.

I managed a small smile. The corners of my mouth hurt oddly as if they had forgotten how to do it.

"With all that in mind, I think it's been a long enough night already. We can talk about what to do tomorrow," said Joyce firmly in a very motherly-fashion. She turned to me with a warm smile. "You're welcome to stay as long as you want, Skylar. I'll go up and fix up the guest bedroom for you."

"No, mom. Don't worry about it," said Buffy, getting to her feet. "You got to bed. I'll do it."

Joyce looked as though she was about to protest, but seemed familiar with her daughter's firm demeanor.

"Alright," she said, kissing her daughter upon the forehead. "I'll see you tomorrow. Goodnight Skylar, Xander."

"Night Mrs. S," said Xander, who also got to his feet. "I think I'll be hitting the road, Buff. I'll see you two Slayers tomorrow."

"G'night," said Buffy.

Xander gave us a quick smile before leaving the house and shutting the door behind him.

"Nice guy," I stated.

"The nicest," Buffy said.

After a slight pause, I said, "Let me help you with the room."

Buffy gathered a pile of sheets, quilts, and pillows from the closet and handed me some. We walked up the stairs and I followed her to the room furthest down the hall. She flicked on the light. The room wasn't a bad size. It held a double bed, bureau, writing desk, and bookshelf that held books I knew I would never touch.

"Your mom is really nice," I said as we both took an end of the sheet and spread it out over the bed, tucking it under the mattress.

"Yeah," said Buffy with a slightly forced smile. I could tell she had a lot on her mind. "I mean, she's . . . mom."

"As most moms are," I agreed. "Still. If I had a mother like her, I wouldn't have gone to the asylum in the first place."

"Your parents wouldn't let you leave?" inquired Buffy, her eyebrows narrowing as we placed an undercover sheet over the bed.

I snorted.

"They didn't _want _me to. Not if I gave them the reputation as 'The couple with the insane daughter', or whatever. I should have just never told them in the first place. They never listened to me. They wouldn't even check under my bed for monsters when I was five. Anything that was so much a pinch out of the regular normality was a threat."

Buffy glanced down awkwardly as we placed the final quilt upon the bed.

"I'm sorry," she said at last as we both sat on the end of the bed.

I smiled slightly, fondling a pillow in my hands merely just for something to do.

"It's funny. You'd think I'd have so much resentment, so much hatred for both the hospital and my parents. Which, to be fair, I do have some. But I don't think I've fully grasped this entire situation, and it—excites me. I'm about to enter something totally and completely new. I'm free. I'm a Slayer. I'm meant to—to _fight _vampires and help people. I would have never guessed in a million years that something like this could make me . . . happy."

Buffy held our gaze for a few more moments before releasing a deep breath.

"Not like I want to ruin anything, but . . . it's not the happiest job in the world," she said tenderly.

"What do you mean?"

She struggled for the right words.

"I'm a Slayer. It's who I am. But—just being who I am means I have to make sacrifices. I can't really explain it," she added helplessly. "But doing this job isn't going to be all zippity-doo-da the entire time. Also I learned that that cliché, uh, 'with great power comes great responsibility', is not a hoax."

"Yeah?" I said, slightly taken aback by this little speech.

"Yeah," she said. "You should have seen what happened to the last Slayer."

"What?"

"Coma."

"Oh."

"Yep."

Another silence. I thought over Buffy's words intently, wondering if I really had anything _to _sacrifice. After another few moments, Buffy got to her feet and gave me another smile.

"I'll see you in the morning, Sky. I can fill you in on more of the basics tomorrow."

"Yeah," I said vaguely, edgily returning the smile. "Night."

"Night."

Buffy left and shut the door behind me, leaving me alone with my thoughts. I sighed, rubbing my eyes and biting on my lower lip.

I was exhausted. My eyes itched with tiredness and my eyelids continued to droop consistently. I yawned, got to my feet and switched off the light. I climbed into the warm sheets and snuggled under the white quilt. It was so satisfyingly unfamiliar and new. I felt safe, I felt unconcerned, but most of all I felt free.

I knew I was going to have to worry about these sacrifices Buffy mentioned, but tonight was not the night. Tonight was the night to dream freely and wake up to an unlocked door and have the liberty to walk where I pleased, go where I wanted and eat whatever I fancied.

I could have cried tears of mirth.


	5. Remembering the Dead Man

**Missed me, lemon drops? I haven't updated in a long time, I know. But hey, we all have personal issues, yeah? Something I won't bore you with. Anywhore, here we go. If you're still enjoying this story leave a review. Leave some advice or tips if you want, too:)**

**Stay crazy.**

* * *

FOUR: Remembering the Dead Man

It was all a dream. I had never made that daring escape out of the asylum. The group led by the girl called Buffy had never come to me. They had never told me I was a Slayer. There was no such thing as a Slayer. I was stuck here in my room, about to head out to breakfast and herded off with the other patients, like cows shepherded to the slaughterhouse.

_Tap, tap, tap._

And there was Mrs. Northway knocking on my door, telling me to get up.

I rolled over in my bed, burying my face in the pillow. I didn't want to move. It had been such a good dream. I wanted to relive it over and over. I wanted to go back to the world where people believed and cared about me.

There was another knock on the door when I didn't answer.

"I'm coming, I'm coming . . ." I muttered miserably into my pillow.

"Skylar, are you in there? I made pancakes. Would you rather sleep in? I can save you some food."

My eyes shot open. That voice was so familiar, yet new. Very new. And these sheets. They were not my old sheets. They didn't smell the same. Not the strange lemony scent of cleaning supplies, but flowery and fresh. I shot up, looking around the room feverishly.

This wasn't the asylum. This wasn't a dream! It had all really happened.

I was _free._

"Skylar?"

I recognized the voice as Buffy's mother, Joyce.

"No, no, I'm up!" I practically laughed, elated with joy as I sprung from the bed, almost dragging the sheets with me.

I opened the door with a large smile on my face, obviously taking Joyce aback. I could have hugged her.

"Good night sleep?" she asked tenderly, smiling slightly.

"The best," I smiled.

She led me down the stairs where I trotted into the kitchen. Buffy was sitting on the counter, also in her pajamas and eating a single pancake. A newspaper was placed in front of her that she was reading intently. She looked up as I entered, giving me the same gentle smile as her mother.

"You're up," she said as I sat down next to her and Joyce placed a plate in front of me, piling it with freshly made pancakes. The smell of them made my mouth water. With nothing but cafeteria food for six months, it was like being presented with a feast.

"Yep," I said cheerfully, slabbing my pancakes with a generous amount of butter.

"How are you doing?"

I almost laughed. How was I doing? What would you ask a person who had just escaped hell?

"Good. More than good," I said, dribbling more syrup than was probably necessary upon my food. I dug in, chewing happily. She raised her eyebrows slightly.

"Glad to hear it," she said evenly. My eyes moved onto the newspaper sitting in front of her.

"Anything?" I asked.

"Nothing about any escaped patients," she said, folding it up. "That was only a few hours ago, though. How _did _you escape, anyway?"

I took a thoughtful bite off my fork, glancing down onto my plate and watching the syrup flood around the pancaked.

"Guess I tried out my new Slayer abilities for the first time. It's weird. The strength comes so fluidly. Effortless. Kind of like I've always known how to do it." I glanced sideways at her. "Is that weird?"

She got a sly smile on her face as she glanced up at the ceiling before meeting my eyes again.

"Nah. I know what you mean. I wish I could have been there for you from the beginning, though."

I smiled awkwardly.

"Don't worry about it. How did you find me, anyway?" I asked curiously.

"Obviously you didn't get the biggest bookworm vibe off of Giles. In case you didn't, he's a bookworm."

"Giles?"

"The older guy that came with us to visit you the other day," she explained. "He's big on the whole research thing. Anyway, we found this old newspaper clipping from about - six and a half months ago? It wasn't on the front page or anything but there was this little article labeled 'Girl Claims Vampire Attacked Her'. Not the most original thing to happen in Sunnydale, but it caught our attention."

I felt my eyes widen.

"There's a newspaper clipping about me?" I asked, utterly taken aback by this little piece of information.

"Not much info. Just about you claiming to be attacked by a vampire and that you staked him. Wasn't long after we looked up your name and found that you were transported to the hospital. This all happened last week."

I absently shuffled pieces of my pancake around on my plate. Those bastards. So to some extent I was known as that 'crazy girl' to whomever might take notice of that little article. What gave them the right?

"On a happier note, I want you to come to the college this afternoon so I can introduce you to the gang," she said, picking up her empty plate and walking up to the sink to wash it. "Would you want to do that?"

"Yeah," I said immediately, curious on meeting these other people who were also fully indulged in the vampire world. I had so many questions. I wanted to know more. More about vampires, Slayers, hunting them, slaying them. How was it done? Were there other ways to kill a vampire? Did all the old cliches work?

Buffy leaned on the counter, her eyes observing my outfit skeptically.

"You look about my size," she said slowly. "I can probably lend you some clothes for the day."

"That'd be great," I said in relief. I'd been worrying what I was going to do about that. "Could we visit the bank today? I have some extra money saved up and I can buy some clothes then."

"It's a girly shopping spree," she agreed. "Here. I'll get you some clothes to wear."

Buffy's jeans were a little tight around my waist, but I was mostly satisfied with how they felt. I slipped on a white blouse and left my red hair to hang around my shoulders. I felt slightly plain standing next to Buffy when her blonde hair was put in a neat updo and wore a slight amount of makeup. I couldn't even remember the last time I had time to worry about my appearance.

"You mentioned we were going to the college?" I inquired as we walked back down the steps. "Do you go to school there?"

"Yep. Started a little while ago. What about you? Did you go to college?"

"No," I admitted solemnly. "I never finished my senior year because of what happened."

"Oh," she said, glancing down awkwardly as we entered the living room. "Well, you know you could take online classes and get your GED. Maybe then you could apply."

"Maybe," I said with a dim smile. Frankly, school was the last thing on my mind. I mostly imagined myself out somewhere hunting down vampires, which for some reason, I was excited about. Something told me this was going to change once it actually happened.

A few hours later of doing nothing but watching TV reruns, Buffy led me through the front door and we walked to the college. It was only about a twenty minute walk but I was taking in every detail as if it was my first time on earth. I watched the people that passed us, the first ones I had seen in a long time that were not wearing mint green hospital gowns.

The change of atmosphere was astronomical, and no one but a person who has been in a mental institution for six months would notice it. Everything seemed ten times more alive, more vibrant, and overall much happier. The happiness rubbed off on me and I found myself smiling for no apparent reason. Buffy didn't seem to question it, though. It seemed to some degree she understood my feelings. My liking toward her raised.

Once at the college, I followed Buffy up a slight of stairs and to the cafeteria. I looked around at all of the students, taking in the scenery with great interest. We got two trays of food and we looked for Buffy's friends that we were supposed to meet. It wasn't too long until we found them.

"Well, lookie here. It's the Buffster and her new comrade in arms," Xander commented as we approached the table who was seated next to Willow. I was lagging behind slightly shyly, registering the scene before me.

"Skylar, you already met Xander and Willow," said Buffy, setting her tray down in front of an empty seat.

"Hi," I said with a slight edge of awkwardness as I seated myself next to Buffy. There was a strange feeling in the air, almost repressing.

"So," said Xander after a slight pause and looking at me. "New Slayer in 's hope you aren't evil." I raised my brows at him. "Last one was evil," he explained.

"Now, that's a question I've been meaning to ask," I said suddenly. "The last one. How did I even _become _a Slayer, because I'm sure that a little over seven months ago I wasn't one."

"Once a Slayer dies, a new one is called," said Buffy in a tone that suggested she had stated this comment one too many times. "Faith - the other Slayer - we uh, got in a fight."

"One that resulted in you killing her?" I asked.

"Long story. Yes," said Buffy shortly. "There's only supposed to be one Slayer. Initially, that was me."

"But then Buffy had to go get herself killed, too," intervened Xander.

I looked back from Xander to Buffy.

"What . . . ?" I said, completely confused by this point.

"Another long story," said Willow. "She only died for a few minutes."

"But that was enough to get the next one called. Air go, the next Slayer," said Buffy.

"Then Faith died . . ." I said.

"Actually, no. The next Slayer was someone called Kendra," said Buffy. "Then she died."

I stared at her.

"You Slayers die quickly," I said, my voice quivering slightly. Buffy pressed her lips together.

"I won't lie to you, Skylar. It's not a safe job."

"Noted," I said solemnly.

"So, you died. Kendra was called. Kendra died, then Faith was summoned. Faith died . . ."

"For a few minutes. Air go, you," finished Xander.

My head was spinning.

"This is insane," I said, breathing out my nose and leaning back in my chair. They all looked at me. "Yesterday I was plowing my wall through the halls of an institution thinking I might be there forever, and now I'm sitting at table with people who are explaining to me that I'm some sort of superhero."

"And the cape doesn't even come with the packet," said Xander.

Within the next hour Buffy and the others did their best to fill me on on the entire world that had been kept hidden from me my entire life. It made me feel strangely logical, more enlightened than others. Which I suppose to some extent was true. Some part of me was actually happy or even excited to be apart of such an existence.

Or, more plainly, I was excited to be free. And not just from the institution. My entire life I had been suffocated and mentally throttled by my two parents who wished to control and shape every angle of my life. From telling me who I could and couldn't be friends with, from where I was going to college and what I was going to do with the rest of my life.

Well, I was done with it.

"What really happened last night, anyway?" Willow inquired as we now all sat in front of our empty trays. "How did you escape?"

I couldn't help but smile a little.

"I sort of climbed through the air vents and then climbed over the iron fence," I said slowly. "I didn't go unnoticed, though. Half of the security guards were after me by the time I was running across the lawn. After I got off the premises, I reached the main part of town."

"And you found a phone booth?" asked Buffy. "I think you mentioned that in the car."

"Yeah," I said, frowning suddenly as I thought more about that night. Some things I had already forgotten about. "There was - there was this guy just standing there under a building," I recalled.

"Guy?" questioned Buffy, eyebrows pushing together.

"I didn't have any money for the phone, so I asked him. He said something about if he helped me, I would owe him."

"Owe him?" Willow repeated, frowning in concern.

"I haven't even remembered this until now," I thought aloud. "It seemed so trivial at the time that I guess my mind just pushed it aside."

"What did this guy look like?" asked Willow.

I screwed my face up in confusion.

"He was tall," I started slowly. "Light hair. I think it was bleached. Long leather duster. English accent. What?" I added as all of them exchanged sudden looks at my words. "Why do I feel like there are bells going off all of a sudden?"

"Oh, boy," said Xander, rubbing his hands together. "This just got interesting."

"Interesting how?" I asked, eyebrows contracting as I looked from him to Buffy. She was biting on her lower lip and met my eyes.

"Barely five minutes in the real world and you already came across your first vampire. Or, second one," she corrected.

I stared at her.

"He - he was a vampire!?" I demanded, so loudly that several people looked over at our table in alarm.

"See, we know you're new, but generally we like to keep the entire vampire thing a secret," said Xander slowly. I didn't respond but continued to stare at Buffy.

"How? He didn't attack me or anything. Also, I was bleeding," I said, remembering the slash I had gained while jumping over the fence.

"He wouldn't, or more accurately, he couldn't. Yet another long story," said Buffy. "The blood was probably what attracted him, though."

"I don't understand. You know him?"

She glanced at me sideways, smiling slightly for some unknown reason.

"Sky, the guy, er, vampire you met last night is someone we've been dealing with for a long time. His name is Spike."


	6. Debt

**Just want to clear something up, lemon drops. I made a teensy eensy little mistake. As you may have noticed, I included Oz in the last chapter which, by the series' plot anyway, would've been false since in this fic Spike already has the chip implanted in his brain. Oz(And seriously, if you haven't watched Buffy yet I wouldn't read on cause I give a lot away)leaves Willow on the episode 'Wild at Heart', which is the episode before 'The Initiative', which is when Spike gets the chip.**

**Soo, I edited him _out _of the last chapter, which you may or may not have noticed. Which sucks because I love Oz.**

**Sorry. It bothered me. I researched it for like a half an hour.**

**Anywhore, just wanted to clear that up.**

FIVE: Debt

I hit the ground with an unpleasant _thud_, my legs rebounding so hard that I almost bucked myself in the head. I spit out a few flecks of grass, stumbling to get back to my feet.

"Stake! Where's my stake!?" I shouted angrily, scanning the ground all around me. I had barely landed my eyes on it propped against a gravestone when the vampire hurled itself against me and caused me to tumble to ground all over again. I let out a strangled cry as I attempted to lock my grasp around its jaw, determined to keep those fangs away from my neck. I managed to lock my legs around his waist and hurl him over with every ounce of strength that I had so he was now laying flat on his back.

"Skylar!" I heard Buffy shout. I managed to look up in time to see her tossing me my stake. With the reflexes that I was only now just testing, I caught it in my right hand and brought it down into the vampire's chest. But nothing happened. I had missed the freaking heart.

The vampire, realizing I had screwed up, aimed its feet for my stomach and kicked me off so that I went hurling through the air. My head hit a solid, stone surface. I had been tossed into the corner of a crypt. I fell back on all fours, fighting to regain my breath. No one had told me that a vampire had almost the equal amount of strength of a Slayer. And I thought this was going to be such a breeze.

Before I could regain myself, I felt myself wrenched up by my coat collar and actually feel the ground disappear beneath my feet. The vampire pushed his ugly, disfigured face close to mine so his breath brushed disturbingly against my cheeks.

"Always wanted to taste a Slayer," he said in a sickeningly confident tone, ending it with a throaty laugh.

He leaned forward and I felt his fangs graze the surface of my skin. Then he exploded. I fell onto the ground for about the third time time tonight, clutching my sides and wincing slightly. Buffy had come to my aid. Her stake was still raised in the air but lowered it so she could help me to my feet.

"You alright?" she asked.

"I missed the damn heart," I muttered irritably, releasing a deep breath and shaking my head. She had a knowing smile.

"Don't tell anyone, but the first time I ever saw a vampire, I missed too."

I raised surprised brows at her.

"You seem like a natural," I said.

"You'll get it eventually. This actually wasn't that bad for your first night patrolling. Well, you're not writhing in agony and you're guts aren't spilled out, so that's always a plus in my book."

"No, but I'm sure a rib replacement wouldn't go amiss," I grunted, rubbing my sides.

"Nah. It'll heal soon. That's part of the whole Slayer package. Soon you'll learn to avoid getting hit at all."

"Teach me your ways, oh wise one," I said, trailing my fingers to the small bump now materializing on the crown of my head. "Man, he did a number on me."

"C'mon," Buffy said, chuckling under her breath. "We can get sugared up on milkshakes then head over to Giles' and report back to what we found at the museum."

Just before stopping at the graveyard, we had investigated the murder scene of the curator who had been killed the previous day from unknown reasons. Well, unknown reasons to most. Giles supsected that what ever was dug up under that abandoned building was an angry Native spirit who was out to get revenge.

Not only was I introduced to vampires on my first week of the job, but also angry spirits and even werewolves. I had been informed of Willow's past relationship with the werewolf, Oz. I never imagined that a monster/human relationship existed. From what I gathered, demons were demons, humans were humans, and that was that. Buffy had come to Willow's rescue by explaining that Oz was only the wolf three nights out of the month and had left her for the reason of 'taming the beast within'.

"How is Xander doing, anyway?" I asked, remembering when I had been sitting at home and Buffy came home and told me what had happened at the construction site. Apparently Xander had fallen through the hollow ground and onto the ancient burial ground.

"I haven't checked up on him since yesterday," she admitted. "Anya has probably been taking care of him, though."

"I'm sure she has," I snorted, earning a sideways grin from Buffy.

We made our way to the cafe. One of the things I liked most about Sunnydale was that everything appeared to be in walking distance. I had only lived at Buffy's house for a week days and yet, according to her at least, I seemed to be fitting right in. Which was true to some extent. The Scooby gang, as they called it, was remarkably accepting of me considering the last one the dealt with had gone psycho and on more than one occasion, tried to kill them.

I honestly couldn't have ever imagined turning against Buffy and the others. They had accepted me graciously with open arms and given me a place within this new world that had been hidden from me for the majority of my life. And Buffy—well, she had given me a home, food, and clothes. When it came down to it, I owed everything to her.

Not that all my gratitude went to her. It hadn't been the next day after meeting the gang that Willow suggested online classes to get my GED and enroll into the college once I make up for my six months in the institution. Even Xander suggested putting the word out for me at his job so I could make a few extra bucks. As kind as this offer was, I couldn't exactly imagine myself as a carpenter.

Yet now that she had gone back to living in her dorm room back at the college, it was slightly lonely and a little less fun around at the house. Even if her mother was a joy to have around and seemed positively delighted to have some young blood around the house, it hardly mattered because I was either at the college or Giles' house.

I had grown more accustomed to lounging around at Giles' home with the rest of the gang probably more than anything else. He had also been gracious in his time spent training with me. Though I was far behind in skill when it came to Buffy, it seemed fighting came naturally to most Slayers and I found this to be true.

If I had been anyone but a Slayer while facing that vampire just now, I would have ran for the hills a long time ago.

However, like most of us predicted, my escape from the asylum didn't go unnoticed. Already a post of my picture had been placed in the newspaper claiming that I was dangerous and insane and just recently broke out of the institution. People were advised to alert the authorities if they ever saw me but not to approach me themselves. Luckily for me, the picture was taken five years ago and I looked astronomically different.

My parents had stopped taking pictures of me when they realized I had discovered free will. I was darkly satisfied that they were probably regretting that now.

Thirty minutes later we walked through Giles' front door with half-drank milkshakes in our hands. Giles was perched on the red armchair with, predictably, a book in his hands. He looked up as we entered.

"You can knock, you know," he said indignantly. "This is my home, after all. Not a public establishment."

"Mm. I think those rules work differently with Slayers," said Buffy, taking a smart sip out of her straw.

Willow was seated on the couch and turned their heads to look at us, but noticed we were minus a Xander. Willow seemed to notice my eyes roaming the area, looking for him.

"Xand's not feeling too great," she said tenderly. "How did the museum snooping go?"

"Great. We think we know who and what cut off the curator's ear," said Buffy.

"'What'?" repeated Willow.

"The Chumash knife that was on display was taken," I said, leaning against the wall and glancing at Giles.

"That would make sense," he said thoughtfully.

"'Cause ear-cutting Natives always do," said Buffy sardonically.

"Well, no. Typically the Chumash would perform certain acts to their enemies, specifically body parts to send a message. Hmm." He glanced down onto the book in his lap. "Ah. In life, they used to do it as a ritual sacrifice."

"So now they collect ear necklaces?" Buffy said, wrinkling her nose.

"No," said Giles with mild irritation. "This Chumash spirit that has been released would be sending a message to us. Cutting off the curator's ear—well, perhaps telling us that we do not listen? Or cannot listen."

A slight pause followed his words.

"Cheery," I remarked. "But what are we supposed to hear?"

"The Chumash were forced out of their lands, slaughtered by hundreds of white men—I think they have a good point in telling us we don't listen," Willow defended.

Another silence. I glanced at the clock hanging on the wall.

"I think I'm going to head back to the house," I said. "I'm exhausted from doing nothing all day and there's a Ben and Jerry's mint chocolate chip ice cream in the freezer with my name on it."

"Want me to walk you home?" asked Buffy.

"Nah, don't worry. It's too out of the way," I said, getting to my feet. "Meet you here tomorrow?"

"Oh, oh, oh," she said suddenly. "Tomorrow is Thanksgiving and we're having everyone over here for dinner." Giles gave her a pointed look, but she ignored this. "Like you know, my mom's outta town, so feel free to come. You can come over early and help me bake pies?"

I smiled at the thought of having my first, down to earth holiday. I imagined it will be much more exciting than the ones I had had with my parents which was usually an hour spent with my mother yelling at me to keep my elbows off the table or dealing with lectures from my drunk New Jersey grandmother.

"Sounds great," I said. Buffy smiled.

"I'll see you Willow, G-man."

"Please never call me that again," I heard Giles say as I exited out the front door. Laughing slightly under my breath, I shut the door behind me and head out down the street. Considering the late time, there wasn't a great deal of people out on the streets yet I wasn't worried; what with my newly acquired 'super powers' there wasn't many things that could come as a threat to me anymore. Well, besides maybe a vampire.

In my short time here, I had been able to find my way around without too much trouble and proved to be a charming little town, if a bit dull.

I hummed softly under my breath as I walked down the sidewalk, reaching into the inner pocket of my leather jacket and playing with the stake. I twiddled it within my fingers, trying to do a few cool moves before it fell to the sidewalk.

"Smooth, Sky," I said, rolling my eyes. I bent down to grab it but froze. As I had stopped walking, I thought I had heard a footstep behind me screech to a stop. I looked over my shoulder, my hand still on the handle of the stake and eyes scanning the deserted street.

I knew better than to say 'hello' or 'anyone there', but I also couldn't let the supernatural world overlook my view entirely.

I stood up slowly, still looking for anything out of ordinary. Then finally, I turned my back and started walking again.

Seeing as Joyce was seeing some sister, or friends, or someone down in the LA area, I had the house to myself. I can't tell you how surprised I was when she handed me over her spare key after only knowing me for a week. But then again, Joyce seemed to assume that I was taking the roll of her second daughter now that Buffy was away at college. I think that being a Slayer automatically pushed away any trust issues she might have, too. Also, she was only gone for the weekend.

I turned on Buffy's street. It was so deserted that the only sound was my footsteps against the pavement. It was a slightly ominous and foreboding scene.

As I pressed forward, I was once again overcame b y the sensation of someone watching me, but I didn't stop this time.

I walked onto Buffy's front lawn, stuffing my hand into my pocket to withdraw the house keys. However, I hadn't had enough time to distinguish the door key from the four other ones because something was suddenly hurtling in front of me and my new instincts kicked in.

Dropping the keys, I withdrew my stake with much more speed than I could have ever believed possible. I heaved my weight forward and kicked the huddled figure with as much force as I could muster and it went soaring through the air, hitting the front porch steps.

I couldn't resist from releasing a slight "Oh, hell yeah!" before advancing upon the attacker.

"Wait, wait! Are you a bleeding psycho!? Attacking whoever walks up to you!?"

I hesitated about three feet away from the stranger, stake still gripped tightly within my fingers, weary.

"Maybe," I said. "Maybe you shouldn't be walking up to people in the middle of the night."

The stranger raised his head and I found myself temporarily dumbstruck.

"Spike," I said quietly, feeling my my insides twitch uncertainly. "They told me about you."

"Well, bloody good for you," he muttered, swiping a small, green woolen blanket from the ground and getting to his feet, looking down at me with a scathing look. "Oh, don't hold that stake up to me like you know what you're doing, Slayer. I know you're new to this line of work."

I hesitated but didn't lower my weapon. I studied him closely. He looked awful—more so than when I last saw him. Purple bruises hung heavily under his eyes and his stance wasn't as impressive as I remembered it.

"What in God's name are you doing here?" I asked.

"Well, you're not attacking me. That's always a good start," he said, sounding genuinely surprised. "Most of the time your Slayer sister jabs me in the face before I can get a sentence out."

"They told me about the chip," I said, silently lowering my stake to my side. I tilted my head to the side. "Sounds to me like you're a harmless little puppy."

"Bugger off, red," he said acidly. "I didn't come here to be patronized."

"Do tell me," I said sardonically. "Why _did _you come here?"

He stared at me with such irritation and annoyance that at first I thought he was going to attempt to hit me. He opened his mouth, closed it, then looked around in some sort of desperation. He muttered something hurriedly under his breath that I couldn't decipher.

"What?"

"Help!" he shouted, loud enough that I was sure he would be waking up the neighbors. "Help! I need your bleeding help, okay!?"

I stared at him for a full ten seconds.

"Help?" I said.

"Don't make me repeat it," he uttered irritably. "It's costing me every ounce of manly pride I have left to do this."

"Oh, my God!" I said, my voice shaking with suppressed laughter. "You're kidding."

"Does this look like my joking face?" he growled.

I stopped laughing.

"You're serious," I said. He said nothing, looking testy. "Well, jeeze. I don't know what to say. Why the hell did you have to jump up on me like that? There's such thing as the word 'hello'."

"I'm still a vampire!" he retorted, insulted. "I may not be top dog like I used to be, but I still have an image to keep up."

I released a snort. I was enjoying the fact that he came to me asking for help when I saw how much pain it was costing him.

"What the hell could I possibly help you with?" I demanded.

"I have the military folks riding up my ass like a bloodhound," he said. "They—_shot _me with something." He shifted slightly so that his back faced me. He strained to pull the collar of his shirt down to reveal his shoulder blade. There was indeed something small wedged in his skin, a blinking red light attached to it.

"And, you want me to . . .?" I asked once he released his shirt and faced me again.

"Get the bloody thing out," he said in a low tone, eyes shifting onto mine with annoyance. "Everywhere I go I have them tailing me and I haven't had a ten minute's rest. I need you to do this now."

"Fuck no."

"You . . .!" he didn't finish the sentence, looking quickly over his shoulder and glancing around in every direction. He lowered his tone and drew closer so as not to speak so loud. "I have information on the initiative. I'm sure your new friends filled you in on that. But I can't bleeding well do that if we're sitting on our hands and chatting like ninnies out here."

"And why did you come to _me?" _I asked, backing up a few paces and narrowing my eyes at him.

"Buffy and I have our rows, alright? I thought if I came to you I would be . . . less dead. What could I possibly do to you?" he added with a dry laugh. "If I could hurt you, I would have the other night when your shoulder was bleeding."

He swallowed, eyes closing and jaw tightening. My face contorted in disgust.

"You're disgusting," I said. "Why should I let you into that house?"

"Well, for one I'm already invited in," he said with a slight smirk. "Due to the delightful Miss Joyce. Second, I already told you. You and your little gang have been trying to figure out about these commandos, yeah? Scratch my back, I scratch yours. Besides, you already owe me."

"What, for that quarter?" I asked, raising my eyebrows.

"If it wasn't for that quarter you wouldn't be able to call the Slayer, would you? Might've been found by those asylum guards. The way I see it, I saved your red ass, luv."

My eyebrows continued to narrow.

"How did you—"

"Oh, please," he groaned. "You were wearing a green hospital gown and we were barely a hundred yards away from that institution. Then barely four days later there was that post in the paper about an escape patient. I may be a pathetic excuse for a vampire at this point, but I'm not an idiot."

I scowled at him. He watched me steadily as I bent down to retrieve the keys and walked past him. I strode up the steps and onto the front porch and to the front door. Getting the hint, he followed behind. He started looking over his shoulder so frequently that he appeared to have a head twitch. I unlocked the door and turned on the foyer light. He hurried past me.

"Hang on, vampy," I said, hurrying after him. "I'm calling Buffy."

He whirled around to face me.

"You're telling on me?" he questioned, raising his eyebrows.

"I don't know you, or anything about you. And you're a vampire. I don't trust you."

"So you seek the advice of the oh-so-wise Slayer?" he taunted. "Or to be your bodyguard?"

"One thing we have in common is that neither of us are an idiot. I may not not be the most experienced in my new slay-ee ness, but I'm not the one with a chip in my brain."

"You're also the one to use the term 'slay-ee ness'," he sniggered. "But don't you think calling over our mutual blonde friend would overrule the entire reason I came to _you _in the first place?"

"Overrule it then," I said, meeting his eyes and glaring up at him. "Don't move."

He looked down at me for a few moments, biting on his lip and I took this to mean he gave in. I strode into the kitchen area, switching on the light and walking to the phone that hung on the wall. Beside it was a helpful list with all important numbers I might need that Buffy wrote down. Giles' home phone, Xander, Willow, and this home number.

"Might want to hurry up a bit if you don't want our military friends crashing through the windows!" Spike shouted from the dining room.

I picked up the phone and dialed Giles' number. He answered on the third ring.

"Yes, hello?" he greeted, sounding exhausted.

"Giles, it's Skylar," I said tenderly, glancing towards the kitchen door where it revealed Spike twisting a bottle open from the table and giving it a small sniff before retracting in disgust.

"Skylar?" Giles repeated. A small pause. I imagined Buffy was nearby and listening in. "Is everything alright?"

"Er, yes?" I said. "To some degree. I, uh, barely got onto the front porch when I got a visit from someone."

Buffy must have grabbed the phone from Giles because it was her voice that I heard next.

"Hello?"

"Hey, Buffy," I said casually. "So—guess who's here."

"By your tone I'm guessing it's not Santa Clause."

"Oh, you're funny," I said. "No. None other than our English, bleach boy."

There was a slight pause.

"You're okay, right?" she inquired. I rose my eyebrows.

"Buffy, I know I'm a bit rusty at the slayedge but I know how to take care of a vampire who can't harm a human being."

"Sod off," I heard Spike mutter. I smirked.

"What does he want?" Buffy asked.

"For me to help him get this bullet blinky thingy out of his back. It's some sort of tracking device the initiative shot into him."

"Which is why you should get off the damn phone and get crackin, red," Spike said, walking into the kitchen and looking at me impatiently. I shot him a quick glare before turning to face the wall.

"And why is he in m house?" Buffy asked indignantly. "Why don't you just let the commandos take him?"

I sighed. "There's the catch," I said. "He says he has information on them if I help him. Information that we've been trying to get for a while."

Buffy hesitated on the other line. She then spoke to Giles, telling him what was going on. From what I could gather, Giles seemed to be fine with Spike being in my presence as long as he had the chip.

"It will be useful if we can get any inside information on them," I heard him say thoughtfully in the backward.

"Do you want me to come over?" Buffy asked.

"I think I can take one tamed vampy," I said loudly, making sure that he could hear me. "Uh, just the 'getting the bullet out of the shoulder' part bothers me."

"Giles wants to talk," said Buffy. A second later Giles spoke to me.

"Skylar? Are you alright?"

"Yes. Why does everyone think I can't take care of a sterile vampire?"

"It was a rhetorical question. Now listen closely."

For the next five minutes in which Spike kept on checking nervously behind the kitchen curtains, Giles told me specifically how to remove the bullet. If it wasn't deep, I would only need some alcohol, bandages, and a pair of tweezers. I listened closely to his instructions, though wasn't intolerably worried about causing Spike a great deal of pain.

I hung up the phone to find Spike practically hovering me.

"Well?" he demanded.

"Look for a bottle of liquor. Any kind," I said.

He arched a dark brow but I was already heading upstairs into the bathroom for the tweezers and bandages. I also collected a long yard of strong rope. When I came back down I found him already drinking out of a whiskey bottle.

"Surprised Joyce would have this in her kitchen," he said, taking a swig of it.

"It's for cooking," I defended, taking it from his hand. I stripped off my jacket and threw it on the nearby stool, leaving me in my olive green tank top. "Just lean over the counter and take off your shirt."

"Where is this leading?" he asked harshly.

"Do you want those commandos taking you back to mother ship? Take off your goddamn shirt and lean over the counter."

His eyebrow, the one with the curious scar, lifted again. He complied, throwing his black duster to the ground and finally black T-shirt without taking his indignant eyes off mine. I eyed him steadily as he moved to the counter, crossing his arms across his bare chest and bending over slightly so as to leave me with easy access to his wound.

I lifted my hair up and tied it back in a ponytail so as not to have it get in the way. I turned on the overhead light and grabbed the bottle of whiskey. I frowned at the little bullet wound as I hovered over him, grabbing the tweezers from the counter.

"Do you know what you're doing, luv?" grunted Spike.

"No," I said, swiping a washcloth off the sink and dabbing it with the honey-colored liquor. I dabbed the cut and felt Spike stiffen beneath me. I ran my hand over the cold surface of his back, taking the tweezers into my hand and attempting to open the wound a bit more.

Spike grabbed the bottle of whiskey, taking a generous sip and letting out a painful grunt as I dug deeper into the injury.

"It's not in too deep," I muttered.

"Fan-fucking-tastic," he uttered, clutching the bottle tightly within his fingers and releasing out a sharp breath from behind his teeth. "Stop talking and get the sodden thing out."

"Hey, who's holding the tweezers?" I asked, refraining from hitting him upside the head. I was sickeningly fascinated by digging into the wound. It was like watching a horror movie; you wanted to look away but it captured you in an odd way.

He took another violent swig from the bottle.

"Easy on that," I warned as I plunged the metal pincers again into the hole. "I don't want Joyce to think I partied when she's out. The 'a vampire drank the alcohol' is the oldest excuse one in the book."

He didn't reply, but I wasn't even sure he had heard me. His head was lowered and his muscles all around his body were tightened in pain.

I felt the tweezers grab hold of the bullet and let out a little gasp of relief. I extended my hand out for the alcohol and when he did not oblige, I hit him softly several times upon his back. I poured the liquid over the wound and then started pulling the bullet out.

"Bleeding hell," Spike cursed. I grit my teeth and ripped it out, like a band aid. Spike let out an involuntary shout, doubling over in pain.

"Done," I said triumphantly. I left the kitchen and into the bathroom where I dropped the device into the toilet and flushed it. I returned to find Spike still kneeling over the kitchen counter and downing the bottle.

"Don't be a baby," I said. "Straighten up. I need to clean that."

Spike shot me a murderous look but surprisingly complied to my order. I cleaned it up with more alcohol before attaching a thick cotton bandage over it.

"There," I concluded. "You're a free man. Vampire. Thing."

"Wouldn't call having this chip wedged between my noggin 'free'," he said, grabbing for his shirt and sliding it over his head. He eyed my neck hungrily. "God, what I would do for just a taste."

"Mind out of the gutter," I warned. "You still have to tell us all you know."

"Right. Rain check? I'll find you tomorrow."

"You're really funny, vampy. Do you think I'm going to let you run off?"

"Do you think you can stop me?" he taunted with the corners of his lips coiling upward.

I gave him a look.

Taking him by the shoulders, I mustered my strength and forced him into a dining room chair. With the rope I had taken from upstairs, I started wrapping it tightly around his body, strapping him to the chair. Out what seemed to be instinct, he aimed a punch for my face. But before his fist could come in contact with my jaw, he let out a shout even more severe than when I was relieving him of the bullet. He clutched at his forehead, face screwed up in pain.

"Rough," I simpered, taking his weakened state as an opportunity to get the rope all the way around his body. I tied the knot tightly and made sure he couldn't move an inch. I stood back, arms crossed and admiring my handiwork.

"You Slayers are all alike," he muttered, looking positively hopeless strapped to the chair before me. "Your sappy puns, your 'give 'em hell' attitude. You're not really much for originality, are you?"

"Speak for yourself," I said. "Creeping up in the middle of the night and jumping your prey? Just for once I'd like to read a vampire story where the vampire introduces himself with a handshake."

"It's not like I'm living the glory life here!" he said unhappily. "I have the fangs, and can't even use them. Do you have any idea what that feels like? It's like being handed a Ferrari that has no steering wheel."

"World's smallest violin," I said, rolling my eyes. "Now, quiet until morning. Then we head over to Giles' and you tell us about the initiative."

"Give me a drink first," he said pompously, like a child.

"You've had a drink. Several swigs of it. Stay," I ordered, watching him closely. He gave me a sanctimonious expression. I turned on my heel and walked into the living room, plopping down on the couch.

I was so exhausted. I could feel my eyeballs burn slightly within their sockets and my eyelids droop as if they had weights attached to them. In the distance I could hear Spike humming annoyingly, obviously trying to disrupt my slumber, yet I was much too tired to care.

I passed out within five minutes.

* * *

**Ahh, there you go. Good long chapter. Kind of getting more into this story. Spike's character is just so much fun to play with that I just kind of lose myself in writing him. If this was too long, just let me know and I'll shorten the chapters in the future.**

**Also, it's currently 3:36 a.m where I am now and I've been working on this one all day so I apologize if there's a gazzilion grammar mistakes, or any mistakes at all. Kindly let me know in a comment. I'll upload this when I wake up.  
**

**Tell me your thoughts on the story so far, lemon drops? It would really mean the world to me. What can I say? I love reviews and they are beyond motivational.**

**I am now going to do a ceremonious swan dive into my bed. I'm so fucking exhausted. **


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